


Rules of Courtship

by Jubalii



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Seras is forced to attend the summer formal dinner at Hellsing, she isn’t exactly thrilled. However, she strikes up a conversation with a young vampire lord in attendance and they have more in common than one would expect. However, the young lord is completely smitten and, used to having his way, he kidnaps the Draculina and takes her back to his palace. Things only get worse when Alucard comes to take back what’s his and Seras becomes the grand prize in a battle to see who can win her heart! [Facebook challenge prompt]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One True Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: 
> 
> This story is one of Aurelia Destiny’s Hellsing Challenges that she posted on the DG Facebook page. It stayed stuck in my head like a thorn all day and I couldn’t stop coming up with ideas. So I decided to let fate do with me what it will. 
> 
> I don’t own Hellsing. I don’t even own my own house, for Pete’s sake.

“It’s not that I don’t want to go,” Seras lied through her teeth as her arm was jerked by the tailor and measured briskly. Sir Integra said nothing, one slender eyebrow arching at the young vampire’s assertion. “But I’m so new here; am I really needed there? I mean, I haven’t even been at Hellsing a full year yet, and already you’re throwing me ahead of officers who spend their whole lives striving for a place at the balls.”

She’d heard it all day in the halls; the whispered comments, the cold glares sent her way, the way her back itched all night as the soldiers bored holes in it with their eyes. They didn’t think that she, a tiny nobody— a slip-up that was only alive because Sir Integra allowed it.   
“Agent Victoria,” Integra said, and her no-nonsense tone would have made Seras wither if she hadn’t been forced up by the tailor’s deft, impatient hands. “You will be at this dinner.” Seras sighed and the tailor huffed as she lost her posture for a full two seconds. “Alucard will be at the front of the table with me and the other Knights, protecting us from any… troubles that may arise. Your job is to be at the other end, guarding against the same thing.” She tilted her head slightly, watching the tailor work before blowing out a cloud of cigar smoke.   
“Isn’t that the same as saying that Master can’t handle your guests?” she asked warily, hoping the ancient vampire wasn’t in earshot. He’d been banished from the basement during the fitting sessions for good measure, although neither woman thought that he’d peek at them. It was beneath him, even if it would irritate and embarrass the two blondes. And even though he’d been told not to come down, that still wouldn’t stop him from eavesdropping if he so chose.   
“Not really,” Integra answered, patiently keeping her arms held out at an angle as the other tailor made some finishing measures. “He wouldn’t his hands full, but it’s nice to have a backup plan all the same.” She smiled—a rare expression for her—and Seras noted that if she did it more often, the Ice Queen just might look a bit prettier. “Besides, I need help entertaining my guests, and you’re a very agreeable young woman when you actually pay attention to things.” Seras flushed at the compliment, even though she knew that the heiress was just trying to rope her into agreeing.   
“Do I have a choice?” she asked hopefully, and the answering look told her all she needed to know. She bent her head in submission and kept her irritation to herself, the emotion bubbling in her gut like boiling water. Her boss was a bit too much like her servant; it was nearly impossible to fight her and win, so one had to choose those battles wisely.   
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Even if the tailor was a prat with wandering hands and a short temper, he managed to make a beautiful dress. Seras felt like a princess, all dressed up in finery. She allowed herself one childish twirl as she studied herself in her bedroom mirror, turning this way and that to watch the fabric move around her.   
The dress was a dark green, not exactly emerald but not forest green either. The color wasn’t one she’d have chosen, but she had to admit that it did wonders on her skin; instead of pale-corpse-white, her flesh took a creamier color against the stark material. The lacy pearl-studded accents were a bonus, working with her curves to make a flattering figure. The silky material billowed around her legs like a ball gown, the folds stopping just above her feet, where she wore a pair of Sir Integra’s flats instead of her combat boots (although if it had come a fraction further, she’d have considered the boots after all).   
A knock on the door told her the “cleanup crew” had arrived. Walter had kindly informed her that a team of professionals would be down to fix her hair. She knew that they’d do her makeup too, but she was prepared for a fight on that front. Ever since she’d turned into a vampire, the chemicals in foundation burned her skin.   
She called that the door was unlocked and it opened to reveal two young ladies with briefcases and a duffel bag full of tools. She was promptly sat down and one girl bent to her hands, beginning to work silently on her nails. The other engaged the overwhelmed Draculina in small talk and began to systematically tear her hair out, pulling it into shape.   
After her head was pounding and what small amount of hair she did possess was piled on top of her head, the girl moved around to begin work with a curling iron and pins and flowers. She couldn’t see herself in the mirror, so she focused instead on the fanny pack full of bobby pins slung around the hairstylist’s waist. The other girl made her nails shine as if she’d never done any work in her life, each digit ending in a perfectly rounded pointed.   
Finally both stepped back and Seras saw the mirror. She gasped, looking at the elaborate hairstyle and wondering where the hairstylist had found enough hair to make all those curls. Beautiful white roses and strings of pearls graced the elegant curls. The entire thing looked too delicate and it added something more to her face—instead of a bumbling girl, she was a sophisticated woman.   
The nail-polisher stepped forward and put simple pearl studs in her ears, and then held out a tube of lipstick hesitantly. Seras nodded despite her earlier misgivings and the woman swiped the stain quickly across her lips. They both stepped back and appraised their work, nodding to each other.   
“It’s beautiful,” Seras managed to say as she sat dumbfounded. The dark red lipstick made her eyes look intriguing and deep, instead of just… gross and red. She really looked like a princess now. The women nodded together.  
“Of course,” the hairstylist quipped gently. “Only the best to befit a Lady.” They both bowed slightly and Seras stared up in shock, realizing that they were gazing at her with a certain level of knowledge she’d missed before. It gave her the same weird, swishing feeling in her gut that always came around when the men that manned the doors and vehicles bowed to her. She usually forgot that she was technically nobility, since she was Alucard’s fledgling.   
“Ah, thank you,” she stammered. They backed away and packed up their things before leaving her alone. She stared at the beautiful doppelgänger in the mirror, the Lady Seras that she would never really be, even if she looked like it. It gave her chills, although she couldn’t decide what exactly moved her so. Finally she sighed and stood, gathering her skirts and heading for the party she heard bustling above her head.   
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Sir Integra looked stunning, in a slimmer dress that was the color of a noon sky. Her hair had been braided, and the flowers that adorned it were the same color as the dress. She was talking to Sir Irons, who Seras only remembered from the day the Valentine brothers attacked the mansion. Walter was in a corner, nodding animatedly as he talked to a pale young woman with flowing ginger locks and a light green dress. The woman looked terribly melancholic, although she clearly laughed at whatever the retainer had said. Seras smiled at his polished suit—he looked that nice every day, but he’d thrown his best linens on since he played the part of Sir Integra’s official escort.   
She didn’t see Alucard, although she knew he was somewhere in the throng of people gracing the foyer. She scanned instead for something strange, exciting—there was supposed to be a good number of supernatural people here tonight. Hellsing had aids in almost every country; the “good guys” who kept an eye on their brethren and kept humans blissfully ignorant of the creatures they shared their day to day lives with. But even though she carefully looked over the crowd, she saw no one.   
Of course, she could have gotten a better look if she wasn’t hiding behind the wall at the top of the stairs. Half-bent and peering around the railing, she looked like a child sneaking up to see a grown-ups-only party. But her nerves were shot at the first sight of all those people, and she knew if her heart still beat it would have been thundering in her chest from fright.   
She gulped and backed away from the rail, into the shade. She couldn’t do it. Consequences be damned, but she knew the minute she walked out there she’d trip and fall, or some other dastardly thing that would ruin her image and make for a horrid first impression. One hand fluttered to mouth and she bit her finger, her eyes sliding back to look at the light spilling into the hall from the foyer. How did Sir Integra ever believe her capable enough to walk out into a crowd of strangers and not make a fool of herself!?  
“Oh, wonderful!” a voice chirped suddenly, scaring Seras out of her shoes. “I’m not the only nervous one here.” She turned on her heel, backing away a pace and staring wide-eyed into the gloom. She hadn’t heard anyone come up behind her in the hall, a rarity considering her enhanced senses. She pulled her finger out of her mouth, her hands moving to clasp behind her back as she straightened up her posture.   
He was a middle-aged man, or at least he had the appearance of one. Seras could feel something pulling at her instincts, a whispering voice in her head warning her that something was off about him, but at the same time her gut was telling her that the man meant her no harm. But as she looked closer, she decided that he must be supernatural.  
He wore a brown suit with a crisp, white, buttoned up shirt beneath the jacket and a handkerchief sticking slightly out of the side pocket. He moved slightly and she thought she saw suspenders beneath the jacket as well, but she wasn’t sure. His shoes were so shiny that she could see her reflection in them, and there wasn’t a scuff to be had. His mousy brown hair was neatly combed, save for a few strands that fell over his forehead. His glasses were thick plates of glass with wire frames that looked ancient, like he’d found them on the nose of a Victorian scholar. His face was lean and smooth, with almost imperceptible laugh lines. All in all, he looked normal enough.   
But it was his eyes that drew her in; eyes that looked straight into her soul and knew what she was thinking, she was sure of it. Those eyes, grayer than rainclouds or sheet metal, the most pure color she’d ever seen in her life—they were filled with a sense of wisdom and age, they were eyes that had seen brilliant, horrible things. They weren’t the eyes of a normal human.   
Right now, those eyes looked at her with mingled amusement and relief, and he let her get a good, long stare before he cleared his throat politely. “Something you like?” he asked playfully, and she suddenly felt every ounce of fear and tension slip from her body. She blushed from the roots of her hair to her toes, realizing that she’d been all but gawking at him. At the sight before him, the man laughed and the sound filled her with glee, it was so clean and happy.   
“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling a little self-conscious. “You surprised me, that’s all.” The man walked over and before she knew it, he’d threaded his arm through hers. She thought about protesting, but something in her liked this rather forward stranger and she found herself relaxing.  
“You’re nervous about going down there,” he said knowingly. She nodded. “Well, I am too. I love parties once I get there, but making my way down and beginning to socialize is a pain. I never know what to say and, to tell you the truth,” he paused, leaning down secretively to whisper in her ear. “I’m a bit of a klutz.” Seras giggled.   
“I am too,” she conceded. “I didn’t want to walk down and trip on my dress, or spill a drink on myself or…” she faltered, looking back at the lighted foyer with a growing sense of unease, “Well, I’ve never been to such a fancy party before,” she admitted. The man looked delighted.   
“You haven’t?” he asked. “Well, this is great! Your first time is always the most fun, really. Everything’s new and exciting—when you’re as old as I am, they all begin to run together.” Seras looked up at him, her head barely brushing his chin as he began to walk her in the direction of the stairs.   
“You don’t look that old,” she remarked. The man looked down at her and laughed again, and she admired the way his eyes sparkled with mirth. He winked at her and she felt another blush grace her cheeks.   
“I’m older than you’d think, love.” Seras was about to ask what sort of creature he was, and was grappling with a polite way of phrasing it, when suddenly she ran into a broad chest. She fell back against her new companion, shaking her head slightly and looking up, dazed.   
Alucard stood in their path, dressed in a simple black suit with a crimson tie. He glared at her for a minute, his eyes sweeping over her form and she stood a little straighter under his gaze. Finally he looked at the man, his eyes narrowing slightly as his lips turned down into a frown. She felt the man’s arm tighten and looked up, wondering if her master’s presence made the man uneasy.   
To her surprise, the two men were locked in a staring match of sorts. Her master was standing feet planted, arms crossed, with his expression slowly devolving from displeasure into pure anger. The man was still holding her arm, his stance giving off an air of ease, and a friendly smile on his face.   
Seras felt a shiver creep down her spine as she looked at the man’s eyes; they were sparkling dangerously, as he was silently challenging the ancient vampire to make a move. This scrawny man was going to openly invite her master to fight? Did he have a death wish? Surely, even if he wasn’t human, her new acquaintance couldn’t win against her master! However, something in the back of her mind chimed that there was definitely more to him than met the eye. Finally Alucard nodded curtly to him, fury still swimming just beneath his cool gaze.   
“Renfield.” The man gave him a toothy grin, tilting his head like an overgrown puppy. The tension eased and Seras let out a sigh of relief, although she hadn’t known she’d been holding her breath.   
“It’s wonderful to see you, old chap. I’m surprised to see you still unchained,” the man said genteelly. Alucard raised a single brow and the man continued. “But then again, not everyone obeys the leash laws.” Seras gasped at the blatant slur, one hand clapping over her mouth. Her mind was reeling—Renfield… wasn’t he the madman in that book? But, then again, one had to be completely mental to just openly insult her master, the No Life King himself!   
The vampire hissed in rage, his hand already reaching into his coat. Seras knew that he’d bring out a gun and the Sir Integra’s dinner collapsed before her mind’s eye. However, the hostess herself was climbing the stairs and Seras stared as she placed a hand on Alucard’s arm.   
“Stand down,” she said calmly. She looked over at Renfield and her gaze softened to that of a child staring at a family friend. “Do you really have to start something every time you two meet?” she asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice. Renfield shrugged one shoulder, laughing softly.   
“Consider it my payback for decades of forced servitude,” he answered enigmatically. Integra nodded and gave Alucard a warning look before spying Seras. She looked shocked, her blue eyes widening slightly.   
“Agent—Miss Victoria, why aren’t you down with the other guests already?” she asked, holding out an arm. “Come on, you can’t hide up here forever. I said you’re going to be at this dinner, and I mean it.” Seras meant to oblige her, but Renfield hung onto her arm a moment longer. She turned and he stared into her eyes for a long moment. She felt as though he were searching through her mind for something, using only their locked gazes. Finally he nodded to himself and let her go, and she stumbled back before Integra caught her arm in a firm grasp.   
“Honestly,” Integra sighed, and Seras felt her face grow hot. Well, better here in the dark with a kindly madman and her master than on the stairs in front of a crowd.   
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
After having been introduced to a million people only to immediately forget their names as she was whirled around the foyer, Seras could have cried with joy when the signal came to move into the dining hall. She followed the crowd, letting them sweep her into the right room and found her name on a tiny place card at one end of the great table. She sat down and a waiter pushed the chair up behind her. She thanked him with a nod and looked around at the beautiful flowers and embellishments that lit up the room. During most of her time here, the dining hall stood empty and unused. It was a nice change to see it well decorated.   
Finally the meal came, and Seras was surprised to see a man fill the wineglass in front of her empty plate. She took a cautious sip to realize that it was a spiced fruit drink; the kind she was given only on special occasions. She licked her lips daintily and took another, longer sip, relishing the flavor. It was her favorite treat, now that blood was the main staple to her diet.   
Looking down the table, she saw that many had varying dishes and drinks depending on their diets. The pale green-clad woman, who Integra had whispered was a banshee, was nibbling on a tasty-looking pastry, while next to her a tiny slip of a sea nymph ate a seaweed salad. Renfield—who sat a little farther down the table—waved at her, one hand carefully snagging the spider that escaped from its enclosure before popping it in his mouth like one might a hors d'oeuvre.   
It surprised her how normal most of the supposedly supernatural creatures looked. The werewolf, who Integra had explained was also a very well-known Australian ambassador, easily passed for a human despite his abundance of hair. He was eating steak tartare and listening attentively to his companion, who for being hairy was still a very beautiful lady. There were several others drinking the same thing as her, their eyes varying shades of red that crossed both ends of the spectrum.   
One young man’s eyes kept her attention, and though she didn’t like to stare she couldn’t help it. He sat across the table from her, drinking his spiced punch and nodding as a young lady with wings folded demurely behind her back spoke about polar ice caps.   
His eyes were a burgundy shade, but the inner irises were speckled with flecks of gold. His hair was slicked back, only a shade darker than her own light blonde locks. His face was full, but not chubby enough to take away from his appearance. He wore a sapphire suit with silver trim, which looked more like an army captain’s studded coat than any mere formal wear.   
She was so engrossed with staring-without-staring that when he spoke to her, it surprised her enough to make her jump slightly in her seat.   
“I hope you don’t mind me saying,” He said in a strange accent that she couldn’t quite place, “but those roses in your hair are lovely.” She felt her cheeks glow at the compliment and thanked him quietly. “What’s your name?”   
“S-Seras,” she said hesitantly, wondering if she should have added “Lady” in front of it. She really didn’t know the etiquette for this sort of thing. “Seras Victoria.” He repeated the name, rolling the syllables on his tongue with a pleased smile.   
“That name suits you,” he said with a charming smile. “A lovely name for a lovely lady.” She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was blushing now. She thanked him again, hoping she didn’t sound like a broken record. “I am Lord Emiliano of Switzerland,” he told her.   
“Isn’t Emiliano Italian or something?” she blurted out without thinking. Ugh, stupid Seras! She thought to herself. Just call him a liar, why don’t you? He just said Switzerland. But Lord Emiliano looked surprised and pleased at her question.   
“Yes, it is,” he replied. “I come from southern Switzerland, where many of the people speak Italian. I’m surprised you know such a fact,” he added. Seras shrugged, her self-consciousness creeping up again.   
“Well, I—Um, it’s nice to meet you,” she offered finally.   
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
They spoke for the rest of the evening, all throughout dinner and then through the drinks afterwards. Seras learned that they had more in common then she’d have thought, considering she was born in 1989 and he in 1337.   
They both had lost their parents at a young age, hers to those bloody murderers and his to the Plague. They both missed having blue eyes, and thought that red eyes weren’t flattering at all, although Emiliano admitted he liked Seras’ crimson ones more than his own dark ones. Seras countered that she loved the golden specks in his.   
They both enjoyed the spiced punch, with Emiliano admitting he’d never really tasted anything quite like it, and wondering if he could give his servants the recipe. Both loved classical music, hated small spaces, and so much more that Seras was flabbergasted. It was like they were meant to be friends.   
She hadn’t had a true friend since she’d been a human. Walter was the closest thing, but he still wasn’t really friend material. Sir Integra was too uptight, and her master was… her master. Not a very friendly person. And the soldiers didn’t like her. They were afraid of what she could do.   
But here was another vampire, a kindred spirit who she could write letters to and talk on the phone to, who shared her love of Tchaikovsky and who joined her in making jokes about the other guests, no matter how silly and un-noble it was.   
When the time came for the guests to leave, Seras realized with a start that she’d had a good time. She hadn’t thought once about her nervousness since she’d left the stairwell, and she’d had a night full of spiced drinks and meaningful conversation. She didn’t want her new friend to leave, and when he asked for her to step aside she planned on getting his address or a phone number.   
“Seras, tonight has been the most fun I’ve had in centuries,” he started, and Seras jumped in.   
“I know, it’s been fun for me, too. I want to stay in touch.” He nodded and looked out at the diminishing crowd, a serious expression crossing his youthful features. He turned back and clasped her hands, his eyes searching hers.   
“I need you to do something for me,” he said, and Seras found herself nodding. She squeezed his hand and smiled.   
“Ask away,” she said cheerfully. He grinned and the seriousness left him, his eyes twinkling.   
“Marry me.” Seras didn’t know whether to laugh at a joke, or gasp in shock, or voice her confusion. The words had come with such conviction, but the emotion behind them was undefinable. But before she could decide what to do, a sharp pain cracked her skull down the middle and she fainted, his gold-speckled eyes the last thing she was able to focus on before it all went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

“Foolish boy!” Seras came to slowly, a phantom pain still pounding in her head. She felt a change in the air and smelled a flowery fragrance wafting around her while someone stroked her hair gently. She was laying on something that moved, and cracked open one eye. Peering through her eyelashes, she saw an abundance of blue.   
“I send you to England to strengthen the ties that protect us, and you come back with an unconscious woman!” The feminine tone was angry and hard to understand through the thick accent. Seras stayed perfectly still, thankful that she didn’t have to breathe to survive. She didn’t want her captors to know she was awake.   
“I know, Mother,” a familiar voice answered, loud and close to her head. Seras almost jumped in surprise. It was Lord Emiliano! The hand paused and pushed her bangs off her nose before resuming its path on her scalp. “But she is the most beautiful, exciting creature I’ve ever seen! I-I think I’m in love.” His voice softened, and even as creepy as it was Seras couldn’t help but feel a little flattered.   
“What do you know of love?” the reply, while sharp, was gentled by the exasperation in the woman’s voice. Seras knew that Emiliano had told her he was orphaned, but this female did sound an awful lot like a mother scolding a wayward child. Another hand pushed the hair off her neck, and she suppressed a shiver as well-groomed nails found the twin scars where she’d been bitten. “Look, caro, she is still only a Childe.”   
If Seras hadn’t been pretending to be asleep, she would have defended herself at that point. She hated it when people assumed she was still a young girl and even more so when they called her little. But the woman had used the term almost like a proper noun, leaving Seras more confused than angry.   
“Who does she belong to?” the woman asked quietly, barely stroking Seras’ cheek before leaving and taking the wonderful perfumed air with her. “The King?” she asked knowingly, when no answer came. There was a heavy sigh and Emiliano’s hand tightened in her hair for a tense moment. “Did you take her with his permission, at least?”   
Before he could answer, Seras opened her eyes fully and sat up. She’d heard enough. She wasn’t at Hellsing and she was swinging between anger at being kidnapped, as well as fear of what might happen to her and anxiety on how the hell she was supposed to get home. She jerked her head to the side to see that her head had in fact been lying in the lord’s lap, and he blinked at her with mixed concern and infatuation.   
“Are you all right, Seras?” he asked her, reaching out for her. She backed away on her knees, looking around to see she was on a cushiony divan in a parlor of some sort. She grabbed one of the pillows scattered across the top and held it like a shield between her body and his hand. He watched her and sadness crept into his gaze. “You were hit harder than I would have liked, my love. I apologize, from the bottom of my heart,” he announced chivalrously.   
“I’m not your love,” she snapped, sounding harsher than she meant to. He heard the fear in her voice and his hand dropped, a crestfallen expression on his face. “And I’m not marrying you! We only met tonight!”   
“Last night,” he corrected, and Seras felt the blood rush away from her head. Last night? She had been unconscious a whole day!? She stood up, still clutching the throw pillow for dear life as she began to back away. Her mind raced with thoughts of rape and being kidnapped and held hostage. What did he want from her? He couldn’t be in love with her; they’d only just met!  
“Where am I?” she shrieked, hysteria creeping into her voice. Why hadn’t Sir Integra sent a search party after her? Why hadn’t her Master come to collect her? Emiliano stood up, his hands rising in supplication.   
“You’re at my home, in Southern Switzerland,” he said gently and slowly, as if he were speaking to a frightened child. “You are in no danger, Seras Victoria.” Seras shook her head, tripping over her dress as she backed away.   
“Clearly I am! I’m in a room with an insane vampire who decided it’d be alright to kidnap me from my home and take me to Switzerland!” She looked around the room for an escape, her eyes flickering to the window and back. To get to it, she’d have to run by him. Would she be fast enough to escape his clutches? “What are you going to do to me?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I-If you rape me, my-my master will come and kill you and string your body from a pole!” she threatened. Emiliano stopped walking, a look of disgust in his eyes.   
“I would never touch you like that, my darling! I love you,” he protested. “I wouldn’t dream of forcing your hand.” Seras looked at him in bewilderment, unable to follow his words. He kidnapped her, he thought he loved her. The next plausible thing to do would be to rape her. Why was he lying like this? Oh, right, because he’s mental, her mind chimed helpfully.   
Two firm hands gripped her shoulders and she screamed in alarm, fighting off the new attacker. A calming voice cooed in her ear and she twisted her head around, trying to see what she was dealing with. Her new captor was a beautiful woman with olive skin and perfectly-styled ebony curls that tumbled across her shoulders and down her back. She was wearing a simple, Grecian style dress with a transclucent shawl draped across her arms. Her eyes, though red, were so dark they looked almost black.  
The woman stroked her hair gently and guided Seras back to the divan, warning Lord Emiliano away with a wave of her hand. She sat next to the shaking blonde and held her silently. Seras felt awkward with her face pressed into the side of the woman’s breast, inhaling the floral scent. But after a moment, the quiet embrace began to calm her down enough to think clearly.   
“There there, cara. Shh,” she began to whisper gently as Seras started to sniffle. She hated crying in front of strangers, but she was uncomfortable in the dress and her hair felt greasy and sticky and she wanted to be in England, not Switzerland! Not to mention the emotionally draining turmoil of feelings going on inside her, making her stomach flip-flop.   
“I just want to go home, please,” she finally muttered, subdued as she untangled the woman’s arms from her shoulders. Lord Emiliano stepped forward with a frown, but the woman held up a hand and he stopped, a defeated look on his face.   
“Leave us be.” Emiliano looked as though he might protest, but his shoulders slumped and he left the room with a quick bow. The woman stared at the closed door for a long moment, her eyes musing and she shook her head before turning to pat Seras’ thigh.   
“Let us get you cleaned and out of that dress, cara mia. Then you will fill in some details for me.”   
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The kind lady threw Seras in a tub, had servants scrub her until she felt raw, and then gave her a long silk nightgown to wear. The gown was too big for her and she had to lift it to walk around without tripping, but it was smooth and billowed around her whenever she moved and Seras couldn’t help but like it.   
She was then sat by a fireplace and the woman—who finally introduced herself as Lady Rosella—began to comb out her wet, tangled hair. Seras looked at the flames, the events of the past two days turning over in her mind. Even if she was in Switzerland, why hadn’t her Master come to find her? Was it because no one knew where she was? Or perhaps he just didn’t want her. She slumped slightly, her eyes pricking with tears. She did often disappoint him, and she had fought hard to keep from drinking blood, but she thought he liked her enough to come get her if she was in trouble.   
“Your hair is beautiful, like my Emilio’s,” Lady Rosella said thoughtfully. “I always envied women with light-colored hair when I was a human. The years, however, have taught me to be happy with myself, no matter what I become.”   
“Hmm,” Seras responded absently, her head rocking in time with the woman’s tender brushing. The lady was quiet for a minute more before she began to ask Seras questions.   
“You are the King’s Childe, his fledging?” Seras tried to nod, but it was hard when someone was pulling your head to every side.   
“Yes,” she finally said, giving up her own silence. “Ouch!” she yelped when the brush hit a snag, even though it didn’t really hurt. The woman immediately let go and carefully began to brush the snag out, using short strokes.   
“I didn’t know he had a Childe,” she admitted, more to herself than to Seras. “But it has been a long time since we last met.” She put the brush down and used her fingers to separate the strands as they dried from the heat of the flames. “How old were you when you were turned?”  
“I was nineteen,” Seras replied quickly.   
“And how many years has it been?”   
“Only one.” Seras turned slightly to watch the woman in her peripherals. “Are you Lord Emiliano’s Master?” Lady Rosella smiled.   
“I turned him, yes. But I have always considered him my son, and he calls me Mother. I do not think of him as I do the other servants.”   
“Oh.” Seras looked back at the fire burning merrily in the grate. “Master didn’t come for me.” For some reason, she felt comfortable enough around Lady Rosella to voice her sadness at the fact. “Why?” But the woman didn’t answer right away, deflecting her question with another.   
“Before I say what I will, you must tell me what happened last night. I’m afraid my son may have left out details, to keep from disappointing me.” Seras turned around fully, her hair tugging slightly before falling out of the woman’s hands. She wrinkled her brow.   
“I don’t really remember everything. I was hit pretty hard on the head.” The older vampiress rolled her eyes and groaned softly.   
“That would have been Juliano. I should have him whipped for going along with such a scheme.” Seras didn’t even bother asking who the hell Juliano was. She was sure to find out anyway, and the woman was looking at her expectantly.   
Thinking hard, Seras began to tell her about the party. She told of how she met Lord Emiliano at dinner, and how they’d talked and learned about how alike they were. She spoke of how she hadn’t wanted him to leave and was going to ask for his information, and how he’d asked her to marry him.   
“That’s all I remember,” she finished, and for what seemed like an eternity the room was quiet. Seras listened to the crackling fireplace and rubbed the too-long sleeves of the nightgown between her thumb and forefinger. Lady Rosella stared off into the distance, her face pensive. She seemed to contemplate the blonde’s words before scratching her cheek and sighing.   
“I will write to him, and explain where you are,” she said at length. Seras looked up, puzzled.   
“To who?” she asked unthinkingly.  
“To the King, of course!” Lady Rosella answered incredulously. “Who else?” She stood and walked over to a writing desk on the opposite side of the parlor, taking out a jar of ink and some paper. “It is a two-day trip for a vampire through the mountains, unless you know the peaks as well as my son. If he starts the minute he gets my letter, he should be here by week’s end.”   
“No, Mother!” Seras turned around to see two men standing in the doorway. She wondered why she hadn’t heard the door open. Lord Emiliano strode in, his face becoming firm as he crossed his arms. “I’m not letting her go! I intend to marry her!” Seras looked at the other man who entered, a scruffy youth whose eyes were dark brown. He smiled at bowed slightly to her, and she vaguely remembered seeing him at the formal party. She supposed that he must be Juliano.   
“I’m not marrying you!” Seras insisted, rising from the floor. Emiliano glanced at her and then looked away politely.   
“Juliano, get my guest a dressing gown, if you would,” he muttered, and the tips of his ears were red. Seras stared down at herself, wondering why he would be embarrassed. The other boy came out of nowhere with a bathrobe and she looped it around herself, tying the cord loosely with a haughty sniff. What was it with vampires and their insistence on being old-fashioned? Emiliano looked back once Juliano gave the signal, his eyes meeting hers.  
“You don’t love me,” he said with an air of melancholy. Seras nodded vigorously, crossing her arms. She really was beginning to be annoyed by this boy and his puppy love. Just because he thought she was cute didn’t mean kidnapping her; he clearly couldn’t handle a simple crush! “Well, I will change that.”   
“You’re damn ri—what?” Seras looked back warily at him, her eyes searching his face for any sort of devilry. “What?” she repeated.   
“Your people will be here by week’s end,” he said with a glance to Lady Rosella, who nodded as she continued to write. “Until that time, I will faithfully court you so as to gain favor with you, my sweet.” He moved before she could react and grabbed her hand, dropping onto one knee and staring up at her pleadingly. “I will do anything; I will be your willing slave—just promise that you’ll be mine!”   
“You’ll do anything? Then take me back home!” Seras responded, jerking her hand away and holding it to her chest.   
“I cannot,” he declared sternly, his eyebrows furrowing as he glared at her for all of two seconds. The anger passed as quickly as it had come and he reached for her hand again. She obstinately moved away and he stood, frowning. “Even the most stubborn heart can be swayed, Seras Victoria. I will gain your favor, and you will love me,” he proclaimed. Seras watched as he turned on his heel and left the room, Juliano on his heels.   
The look of determination on his face had been frightening and she gulped, cursing her luck.   
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The child had fallen asleep on the divan in the parlor, and Lady Rosella studied her sleeping face as she waited for her son to come back. The girl slept soundly, her face smooth and untroubled, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. The lady smiled and held a finger to lips as the two boys entered. Her son smiled wistfully down at his “guest” before picking her up carefully.   
“I’m going to put her in the downstairs room, Mother. It’s the most beautiful.” He turned without waiting for an answer and carefully maneuvered the body in his arms through the narrow doorway. His footsteps died as he made his way to the stairs and Lady Rosella sighed softly, one hand on her throat.   
“Juliano,” she addressed the other boy in a soft voice. He stepped forward, his eyes glimmering with a unique light that he’d carried since he was a baby. He was a kind, gentle boy, if not a bit mischievous, and Lady Rosella cared for him as if he were her own.   
He’d been brought to her son’s house to replace Marten, the old servant. It had been the custom in the house of Bellandi to take the children of a certain family as their servants. Marten had served Emiliano for all of 82 years before finally passing peacefully in his sleep. It had taken 50 years before another male child had been born to the family; Lady Rosella had taken him and raised him herself, giving him the bright name to match his personality.   
During those 50 years, Emiliano had mourned the loss of his friend and had fallen into a deep melancholy. Even after Juliano arrived and brightened their lives, her son was never truly the same happy young man he’d been before. Tonight was the first night that he’d shown something other than his usual false cheer. He’d truly been resolute in his declarations, and the girl had clearly done something to his mind.   
“Will you really send a letter, Mother?” Juliano asked curiously. She nodded and he frowned, a crease wrinkling in his brow. “But tonight—tonight Emilio seemed to be almost happy. That girl… she is good for him. If he keeps her here long enough, she will bend, I know it.” He was practically pleading on the lord’s behalf. “He is very persuasive,” he added.   
“Juliano,” she began, trying to find the right words to convey what was in her heart. “You are as dear to my heart as all who have come before you.” She patted his cheek and he smiled, bowing his head. “But you follow the laws of humans, and as per our custom you will never become Nosferatu.” The smile slipped from his lips and she felt her heartstrings pull as the light dimmed in his eyes.   
She knew his secret desire to one day be immortal. They all carried that desire in their hearts; but she would never again touch a virgin’s throat with the intentions of turning them. The bond between vampires and their progeny was sacred and ancient, even more so than the vampires themselves. It carried with it a solemn responsibility; one of teaching and protecting. It was not something to be handed out to just anyone, and not every vampire was made for rearing a Childe. It was an act of patience and commitment that covered the span of decades, if not centuries.   
This was why the girl downstairs concerned her so. The King could be steadfast, if the conditions were right, but he was not patient by any means. He could be cruel and merciless, and held no place in his black heart for sympathy or pity. Why, why had he turned an innocent young woman into a vampire? It baffled her; she couldn’t settle on a reasonable answer.   
“I know, but—” Lady Rosella held her fingers over his mouth and he immediately stopped talking.   
“Even if we wish for something, we cannot just take it. This girl has a sire, and while he is living you cannot simply hit her over the head and take her.” Juliano looked down guiltily. “That is not our way, caro.” The teen stared at her feet before looking up hopefully.   
“No one has come for her,” he began, his eyebrows rising as he waited for her to contradict him. She pursed her lips and took her hand away from him, walking to the door and motioning for him to follow. They walked down the hall and up a flight of stairs.   
“That is true,” she answered and he laughed quietly, happy for his lord’s good luck. “But they also do not know where she is. If I send this letter and the King comes, I will not stand in the way between him and the girl, and I expect you to step aside as well.” Juliano growled under his breath.   
“Why should I?” he finally asked, anger in his tone. Lady Rosella turned and grabbed his ear, her voice rising sharply.   
“Because you are only a servant!” she snapped. “You do as I say!” He twisted in her grasp, and she let him go. He backed away, his gaze wounded and frustrated. She bit back her harsh words, hating to use such a cruel tone with him. “He wouldn’t think twice about killing you, caro. Emiliano is no longer under my control, but you are my servant first and foremost. I do not want you losing your life over a silly love spat.”   
“Yes, milady.” She nodded and opened the door to her bedchambers. She moved to a silver gilded cage, where inside a white owl sat. The symbol of her family, the owl opened its eyes and hooted at her softly. She nodded and held a hand through the open door, where the tiny thing hopped onto her palm and swayed. She pulled the rolled-up note from within her bodice and strapped it to the owl’s leg as though it were a carrier pigeon.   
She then handed it to Juliano, who bowed and walked away. She stayed in her room until the owl fluttered past the window. She watched its path until it was a dot on the horizon, and then it was gone. She stayed at the window, lost in her thoughts until the sun began to rise and she turned away to close the curtain and prepare for bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Integra stared at the clock on her bookshelf. Half of its face was covered slightly by books and a few loose papers she’d stuck where she could, but the time was easy to see. It was well after 3 am. She sighed heavily, pushing her glasses up her nose and opening a desk drawer to find a cigar. Her hands shook slightly as she lit it and she took a deep breath, turning her chair to look out the windows behind her desk.   
It was the morning of the third day since Seras’ apparent abduction, and no matter how many search teams she sent out, they all returned empty-handed. She’d put out a BOLO to every foreign Hellsing branch, but they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her female agent. Alucard didn’t seem to be too terribly worried about it, and when she’d asked him whether he was going to look for her he’d cryptically replied “the Police Girl can hold her own”.  
She couldn’t help but feel at fault for her agent’s kidnapping. She’d been the one to force Seras to go to the gala. If she’d listened to the girl’s pleading, this whole scenario would have never happened. As it was, she couldn’t understand how someone had managed to abduct her, much less knock her unconscious or drug her and drag her away while surrounded by guards, soldiers, and even Alucard. But after the party, when the guests had all left, Seras had been nowhere to be found.   
Both she and Walter had passed it off as an early retreat, seeing as the girl hadn’t wanted to be at the party anyway. However, the next evening Walter had come to her office claiming that she hadn’t been in her coffin, and her dress was nowhere to be found. He’d been concerned, but Integra had simply made a note to ask the Draculina where it was later on in the night. It was only when her soldiers had tramped up to her office and declared that Seras had never shown up for the night’s mission that she began to worry herself.   
Now, she was beside herself with concern. Not only concern for Seras’ wellbeing—after all, she’d hosted a legion of supernatural creatures who had powers beyond belief, and could do horrid things to a woman, undead or not. But also for any humans in the area. If Seras wasn’t being fed, and didn’t have the energizing soil of her coffin, she could snap and go berserk on innocents. And if that happened while Hellsing was in the field, they’d have no choice but to exterminate her.   
She certainly didn’t want that happening. In the time Seras had been at the manor, she’d grown rather fond of the bumbling young agent, whose cheerfulness was catching. It was nice, having another female around, even if they didn’t speak much. It just broke up the tedium of the day; and besides, with Seras around Alucard stayed out of her hair, preferring to spend his time teasing his fledgling rather than her. Something deep down told her that if they were forced to exterminate poor Victoria, they’d all feel it, but Alucard especially. She did not want to see how the ancient vampire would react to such a volatile situation.  
“I daresay, Sir Hellsing! We need to have a conversation!” She jumped out of her seat, her hand automatically flying to her gun inside her coat. She was used to everyone, including Walter, knocking on her office door and waiting for permission before entering. As it was, she hadn’t heard the door open at all!   
Spinning around on her heel, she saw Mr. Renfield standing in the middle of her office, glaring at her very sternly. He had his overcoat slung over one arm, a hat and cane in one hand. His normally styled hair was mussed and his glasses were askew.   
“Mr. Renfield,” she said with forced calm, taking a deep breath and standing straighter under his gaze. “It’s very rude to enter a room without knocking,” she said icily, her adrenaline rush turning from shock to anger.   
“It’s even ruder to have one’s soldiers bust down my front door and trample my gardens!” he shouted back, clearly affronted. “My tulips haven’t looked that dreadful in over a hundred years!” He frowned at her, depositing his handful into one of the chairs on the opposite sides of her desk. “They wouldn’t even listen to me, and I’ve spent the last two hours pulling them back into this mortal plane and making sure they’re all in one piece! There’s a good reason I have a strict “No Humans” policy at my home!”   
“I apologize for inconveniencing you,” Sir Integra replied as cordially as she could muster. “But my agent is missing, and I must find her. I’ve had no choice but to go down the list of guests in order to find out where she’s been taken to.”   
“Is he worried?” Renfield asked suddenly, looking pointedly down at the floor. Sir Integra shook her head and he shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t worry either. Vampires are very protective of their fledglings. If she were in any real danger, he’d be busting the doors down in an effort to get to her. It’s strangely endearing at times.”   
Integra frowned and glanced down at the floor herself, “That’s not an excuse to allow her to go missing in the first place.” Renfield laughed, running a hand through his hair.   
“Why does he need an excuse? He may not have even known about it until it was too late. I know that I didn’t. It’s hard, trying to keep track of a room full of monsters. He was probably more worried about your safety than hers.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of her office. “She’s got his blood, and besides, she’s a strong little thing. He’s got more confidence in her than he has anyone else, I’m sure.”   
“Do you really think so…” Integra considered that thought, her teeth biting down what remained of her cigar. Renfield tilted his head at her, smiling broadly. “But even so, I wish he’d go and collect her. I can’t help but worry. The fact that this went unchecked for two days is entirely unacceptable.” Renfield shrugged, not caring enough about security to comment.   
“Would you like me to speak to him?” he asked sincerely. She hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of sending a man like Renfield down to the basement. She knew that if anyone could sway the vampire, it would be him, but at the same time she knew that Renfield couldn’t help but push Alucard’s buttons. It didn’t matter whether Bram Stoker was right or not; whatever past the two shared was clearly both long and filled with violence.   
“Can you promise me that you’ll refrain from fighting? I don’t want my house to be destroyed by the pair of you.” She was extremely concerned about telling him that he could, but a tiny voice in the back of her mind was pressing that if she wanted to see Seras safe and sound in England, it might be best to let him speak to Alucard about it. She half-wondered if that voice was actually Renfield trying to convince her.   
At that thought the man smiled, this time looking rather mischievous, and crossed his legs as he waited, seemingly refusing to promise her anything. Integra sighed, flicking the ashes of her cigar into the ashtray before picking up a pen and writing out a list for Walter that he‘d requested the day before.   
“Just keep whatever you plan on doing confined to the basement,” she said at length. “If I hear a peep from either one of you, I’m going to have Walter throw you out on your ass.” Renfield laughed, and when she glanced up he’d gone, his belongings with him. She hunched her shoulders, hoping that the eccentric creature would take her words to heart. She really didn’t want to waste her budget rebuilding her home.   
____________________________________________________________________________________  
“Hello hello.” Alucard looked up to see the creature that had single-handedly helped ruin his life standing before his chair as if he belonged there. He sat down on the air, and just when it looked like he would fall a rolling office chair appeared out of the dusty mist that swirled around Alucard’s chambers. He rolled it close enough that if he leaned forward, their knees would touch. He smiled pleasantly, motioning to the wine that sat on the end table beside Alucard’s chair. “So, shall you play the part of a genteel host today?”   
“It’s blood,” Alucard answered with a growl, his hand jumping towards his gun. He felt his master’s presence push on his mind and his fists slammed onto the arms of his chair, fury bubbling in his gut. Renfield picked up the extra glass anyway. Alucard poured the wine, and instead of thick red blood a thin stream of clear, bubbling substance poured into the wineglass. Renfield took a sip, sighing in delight.   
“I’ve never been a fan of red wine. Champagne is more my preference,” he explained, swirling the glass in his hand.” Alucard stared at the bottle before pouring some into his own glass. It was blood again, swirling and staining the edges of the glass with crimson trails. Renfield chuckled and sipped his champagne. “Nice parlor trick I picked up a few years back.”  
“Why are you here?” Alucard’s voice was calm, but his eyes flashed with malice as he stared at the man who’d dared invite himself into his chambers. Renfield didn’t seem to notice the vampire’s expression, looking around curiously as though they were in a cheery parlor and not a dank, murky basement room.   
“Well, you have to be a bit more specific, old boy. Why am I here in this chair, or why am I here in this house, or why am I here in England? Or did you mean why am I here at all? I can answer all of those, but-”  
“You’re trying my patience,” Alucard snarled, his muscles quaking as he fought against the runes binding him to Integra’s orders to behave himself and not fight the enigmatic man.   
“I’m here because her ladyship up there wanted me to speak to you. I’m in the house because she sent insane human beings into my house, one of which I’m afraid will turn up in my kitchen cabinet in a few days with no knowledge of who he is. I’m here because I’m still supposed to keep an eye on you, even if you are more… occupied than you were before.” He smiled approvingly at the glowing runes on his gloves.   
“You caused this to happen to me,” Alucard roared, and Renfield held a finger to his lips and pointed upstairs without a word. “You have done your job, you little angel,” he hissed in a quieter tone, throwing himself from the chair to loom over the man. Renfield looked up at him inquiringly, his face a smooth mask. “You’ve made sure I’ve been punished enough for the rest of my existence; humiliated, defeated, enslaved and ruined!”   
“I didn’t do any of that to you,” Renfield replied calmly, wiping spit off his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Sit down, Count. You’re making a scene.” Alucard, arms spasming, managed to grab his gun as the runes began to burn into his skin. Renfield narrowed his eyes and half-stood, and then they were both sitting down as if nothing had happened. Alucard blinked, snapping his jaws in anger when he realized he was back in his chair.   
“You’re acting as if my job was to enact some divine punishment on you, and I assure you that’s not the case. My job then, as it is now,” he continued, inspecting his fingernails, “is to watch you, and ensure that humanity doesn’t suffer because of your little tantrums.”   
“And I suppose you think you’re doing a damn good job of that?” Alucard growled spitefully.   
“I am!” Renfield replied grandly, giving himself a pat on the back. “Nary a country has fallen under your rule for nearly a century! People have flourished, generations made, wars fought and won, and you didn’t have a thing to do with any of it, thanks to Van Helsing. He did all the hard work for me, really.”   
“Really?” Alucard sneered. “And so you account him with my “divine punishment”, as you call it, instead of yourself?” Renfield slammed his glass on the table, a crack running up the fragile spine.   
“If you were being punished, that young lady that lives down the hall would be dead!” he shouted, raising his voice for the first time. “Stop blaming God for the problems you’ve brought upon yourself. You’ve been given chance after chance for redemption, and you throw each and every one away!”   
“Who says I want to be redeemed?” Alucard asked, his mouth twisted in a cruel smile. Renfield sniffed, shrugging.   
“One would think that you would try,” he said offhandedly. “For her sake.”   
“The Police Girl doesn’t need me,” he argued, his hands balling into fists again. Renfield looked at him strangely.   
“Why did you even turn her into a vampire?” he questioned, his eyes showing his puzzlement.   
“She made the choice for herself--”  
“Oh bugger she did.” Renfield waved his words off. “You just say that because you don’t want to face the truth.”   
“Which is?” They stared at each other silently, each refusing to look away. Finally Renfield coughed and touched the wineglass, his long fingers tracing the crack and leaving it seamlessly repaired.   
“If you do not go and get her,” he said quietly, reaching into his coat and bringing out a ruffled, yet benign owl with a note attached to its leg, “then she will be lost to you. I assure you this: if you don’t make a hundred percent sure that she knows your feelings, in the end she’ll choose someone else. She’s not one to tarry--she’s lived long enough with love.” He held out his hand and the owl spread its wings, flying to Alucard’s throne and alighting on the arm, leg held out for its recipient to get the note before heading to the rafters and staying there.   
“Why are you even bothering to tell me this? Whether or not I go to get my fledgling is my business, and mine alone.” He fingered the note before sticking it in his pocket. Renfield smiled wryly.   
“Because I’m not an angel, and never claimed to be,” he said kindly. “I just work for a higher power, is all. And I have a choice, just like everyone else in this universe does. And I choose to help.” Alucard stared at the man for a long moment before asking the question he turned over and over in his mind for years.   
“Why did you help those men, all those years ago? Why help me now, when you worked against me then?” Renfield thought for a moment before answering.   
“Then, I helped because it was in the best interest of my mission,” he said with a nod. “Now?” he tilted his head. “Now, I help because I feel guilty for helping, all those years ago.” He stood. “Thank you for entertaining me this evening. I’ll leave now; I think that man just showed up in my clothes cupboard.” He winked and by the time Alucard blinked, he was gone.   
The ancient vampire growled before swiping his hand and the entire end table crashed against the wall, cups and bottle breaking and spilling their contents everywhere. He stood, pulling the note out and unfurling it. He read it quickly and crushed it in his fist before looking up at the owl, which hooted at him. He cracked his neck and vanished, heading up to his master’s office.   
It was high time to reclaim what was his.


End file.
